Thomas Bulfinch (1796–1867)

At first glance, Thomas Bulfinch's classic compendium of Greek mythology, written around the time of the Crimean War, looks like a sweeping and romantic tome. A flick through its musty old pages makes its prose look rich and ornate, and you want to delve into it. Unfortunately, once you do, you realise that it is a very dry reference book.

The storytelling is perfunctory, summarising some of the greatest stories of human civilization with scarcely any narrative flair or sense of drama. The show more poetic quotations used to illustrate various classical motifs are poorly-chosen, or at least are ones that have not aged well. The use of Roman names instead of Greek (Jupiter instead of Zeus, Saturn instead of Cronos, etc.) also jars, as we have since become used to the much more convenient and evocative Greek originals. A weak attempt at comparative mythology, looking at Indian and Norse gods and heroes towards the end of the book, reads like an afterthought. There are also some peculiar mistakes that would not pass in a modern, proof-read book; the Minotaur, for example, is described as "a monster with a bull's body and a human head" (pg. 188), which sounds more amusing than terrifying, or at least terrifying for the wrong reasons.

That said, the book has a noble purpose, arguing quite reasonably that "without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of our own language cannot be understood and appreciated" (pg. ix). This is truer of Bulfinch's time than our own, of course, because mythology unlocks many of the rich allusions in Milton, Shakespeare, Keats, Byron and Wordsworth, and we have no such writers of 'elegant literature' today. The book, for all its flaws, is a useful key to a treasure chest of allusion and heritage that we seem to have decided is not worth all that much nowadays. That's a mark against us, though, not Bulfinch's book. Even if the book has aged poorly, the myths themselves are timeless. show less

It’s rare that I read non-fiction books and actually enjoy them lately (or National Geographic magazines for that matter), but this book balanced the historical content with the authors’ exploration of the current medieval settings quite well. At times the personalized tone made it feel more like a travel memoir for history geeks than an actual historical tome, but this technique gives the reader a bit of a mental break from the topic. Having a more casual take on the subject actually show more works quite well in this case, since it still presents the historical facts within proper context but it allows the reader not to get stuck on too much technical detail or overweighty academic jargon (a serious issue with a lot of historical writers and academic historians). Clearly the book is a bit dated (references to the Soviet Union were quite amusing), but it still stands well within the oeuvre of National Geographic writing.

The book as a whole could have done with some improvement in terms of their maps - there were a few times when I found myself wanting a quick reference between medieval places names and modern locales, and the few maps that were included had backwards colouring (blue land, white ocean) - but the rest of the visual material worked quite well, I thought. Photos were matched carefully to the main text and included their own captions to further explain topics, and the painted images added a lot of much-needed visual stimulation. Most books on this topic tend to use live recreations, but I find that concept a bit trite, since obviously we don’t have photos from the Middle Ages and trying to recreate scenes just looks like glorified cosplay - which is great, but has no place in non-fiction books. show less

No matter what other versions of the Greek myths you've read, there's a certain quaint charm to Bullfinch's take on the stories. Written in the 1850s, the book opens with a forward in which Bullfinch attempts to argue the value of mythology. He notes that without some background in mythology, the allusions of the famous poets will simply whizz over a reader's head, and also adds that despite its pagan beginnings, mythology contains pure and valuable moral lessons. He then proceeds to retell show more some of the most famous Greek stories, noting and laboriously explaining various later poetical allusions to each tale from writers such as Milton, Keats, Shakespeare, and more.

There's something rather precious about the Victorian writer's obvious discomfort with certain aspects of the myths. For one thing, Bullfinch has to work quite hard to extract his moral lessons; no matter how much you bowdlerize them, the major aesop of most Greek myths is, let's be honest, that you'd better "put out" whenever requested or someone is going to turn you into a tree. I also rather admire the complex feats of literary doublespeak that Bullfinch employs when handling the stories involving same-sex love; he does his best to either portray such relationships as (very) close "friendships" or simply obfuscates the pronouns. I had to laugh at his version of Sappho, as he tells the entire story without once revealing the gender of her lover.

I also found his emphasis rather interesting. The book is supposed to be a collection of myths and fables from around the world, yet almost the book focuses on Greek mythology (or, I suppose, Roman myths, as Bullfinch uses all the Roman names. Personally, I found that rather irritating as I had to keep translating them in my head.) After 35 chapters of Greek mythology, Bullfinch decides on a brief world tour--one chapter on Egyptian mythology, one chapter on "Eastern" mythology, three chapters on Norse mythology, and one chapter for the Celts. This actually can be seen as emblematic of the era; during Bullfinch's time, the Romans were venerated as having created a Utopian society that was lost to the dark ages, and--at least, according to the British--regained by Victoria's imperialistic regime. The fascination with Romans is then something of a self-congratulatory belief that the Victorian world recreated the splendour of the ancients.

Overall, Bullfinch's book exemplifies the Victorian attempt to both venerate and sterilize ancient folklore. Although perhaps not precisely true to their originals, I think Bullfinch's stories have a charm all their own. show less

Reading Thomas Bulfinch's 'The Age of Fable' is about as much fun as trying to read an encyclopedia, by shoving pages up your bottom, whilst eating a bowl of sprouts. You know that this summary of mythology is meant to be good for you, much like sprouts and encyclopedias, but there has to be a better way. It covers mostly Greek and Roman myths, with a little Norse mythology thrown in for good measure, and would make a reasonable reference for Classics students. Just don't attempt to digest show more the whole thing in one sitting. show less